


Simple Solutions

by OrphanText



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gags, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1401445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the night of full moon draws closer, Lestrade becomes more bite-y. However, biting a vampire is a big no-no. Solution: gag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Solutions

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Abitto, a dear dear talented amazing artist that I always see on my blog. Fic inspired by this fan art of Mycroft/Gregory (http://abitto.tumblr.com/post/81271922026/nsfw-vamp-were-mystrade-as-the-night-of-full) - NSFW warning.
> 
> Un-betaed.   
> Apologies for all grammar mistakes. I actually also don't write sex that much, so excuse it if its bad.
> 
> Abitto: Sorry if I mangled your work! q A q

“More, Gregory, please,” the body beneath him shifted, all warm skin and pale flesh, flushed red in certain areas as Mycroft twisted slightly, trying to get Gregory to move again. “Faster- “

He tightened his grip on Mycroft’s waist, fingers digging in slightly, the pinch of claws against bare skin drawing a shudder and a moan from the politician, before he resumed his attempts at encouraging his partner to pick up the pace. Gregory gave a particularly rough thrust with a low growl instead, hearing the soft whine issue from Mycroft’s throat, and resumed the previous slow and steady grinding motion of his hips and taking no heed of Mycroft’s unsteadily issued threats.

No, it was all very frustrating.

This has nothing to do with the very lovely dinner about an hour before, which Mycroft had taken the time to cook himself in the kitchen, finishing off with a dessert that had too much cream and ended up with the both of them messier than polite table manners would dictate, and shredding each other clothes off over the furniture. The sight of the usually distanced, impersonal politician being domestic was more than enough to arouse him, especially when he did up his sleeves like that, baring pale forearms speckled with freckles through sparse ginger hairs, chopping carrots and potatoes. And then they had become distracted enough to manage to singe the onions brown around the edges in their inattentiveness, but dinner had still been a very much enjoyable affair.

Sex was pleasant enough, even more so when Mycroft went down on his knees, and offered his mouth. No, that was mindblowingly amazing, even with the not so welcome scrape of sharp fangs against sensitive skin just to rumple Mycroft’s hair, and watch him take his cock into his mouth like he sucked cock every day, lips turning red and then swollen, slick and gleaming with spit, trying not to gag whenever Lestrade forgot to stay still and attempted to thrust deeper in. To take the edge off, he said, and Lestrade noted that Mycroft had been feeding prior judging from the mottled flush on his cheeks and forehead.

No, less to do with the transpired events, and more to do with this pale expanse of skin and flesh and delicious freckles before him. It was temptation, a feast before a starving man, and he wanted to lick, to nibble at him, to mark him. Already, his back and thighs bore the marks where he had none too gently grabbed him in a heady mix of passion and lust, the red marks stark against the creamy white, and some places where Gregory knew may bruise for an hour or two before fading once again without anyone the wiser. But no, what Gregory wanted to do most was to sink his teeth in, bite down, taste Mycroft on his tongue, but no, none of that.

No biting, Mycroft said.

And thus Gregory had a newfound hatred for ball gags and the horrible, horrible taste of rubber in his mouth.

Beneath him, Mycroft was snarling, his normally neatly combed hair in an atrocious mess, auburn curls sticking out around his ears and from the top of his head.

His teeth bloody ached. It wasn’t fair.

He thought Mycroft was saying something, but it didn’t exactly get his attention until Mycroft reached around with a stinging slap to his thigh. “This isn’t working,” he panted, pushing at Gregory and grimacing when Gregory’s cock slipped out of him. “Get on the bed. On your back. Go.” At Greg’s confused soft whine, Mycroft gave him a push to the small of his back, and then shoved him down on the bed and straddled him impatiently the moment Gregory sat down.

“I know, I know,” Mycroft chided as he reached for Gregory’s cock, giving it a few perfunctory strokes before aligning it up with himself, and then bearing down, hissing when the head pushed past the tight ring of muscles, and sank down the rest of the way. “You were taking your own time.”

Gregory growled to show his irritation, but rubbed his hands up and down Mycroft’s thighs as the man began to move, setting up a faster pace than before, bracing his weight against the headboard. It didn’t take too long for Gregory to start growling again, the low guttural sounds scraping across Mycroft’s bare skin, filling the room.

“Hush,” Mycroft said sharply, before his expression softened and he leaned in to kiss Gregory on the cheek. “You’re always so feisty near the full moon. Its a wonder that you’ve managed to stay single for so long.”

Clubs, Gregory thought at Mycroft, the image of flashing neon lights and heavy throbbing music coming to mind. Young bodies, women, men.

“Still, you know how you are,” Mycroft continued conversationally, slowing down. A curl flopped into his face, and he reached up to brush it out of the way. “You’ll want to bite me, and mark me, and we simply cannot do that.”

I won’t, Gregory thought desperately, a soft unhappy noise sounding from his throat, and nuzzled into the hand Mycroft placed at his cheek, seeking closeness and comfort.

“It looks good on you, surprisingly,” Mycroft stroked his cheek with a thumb, and then traced the thick leather straps that was holding the rubber ball gag firmly in his mouth, carefully wiping away the spit from Greg’s lips. “Perhaps we should do this more often.”

Gregory shook his head, and Mycroft smiled. “Just a consideration,” he murmured, and then experimentally changed the angle of his hips slightly. “Oh,” he gasped, tipping his head slightly back. “That’s lovely.”

Gregory watched his lover move above him, teeth clenched around hard unyielding rubber, and grunted as Mycroft started up fast again, apparently having found the angle that he wanted. From his view, Mycroft was beautiful - a beautiful mess. It wasn’t often, or at all, that anyone got to see Mycroft this rumpled and unguarded, taking his pleasure freely from Gregory as he moved up and down his cock, skin slapping against skin, and Gregory was happy to be rewarded with a moan as he took his lover into hand, stroking slowly, rubbing a thumb over the sensitive head, teasing.

Still, the gag was a terrible annoyance and a distraction away from the pleasures of having Mycroft ride him and watching him pleasure himself, something that was very much present and which he was unable to ignore. Where he would have been moaning, instead, he found himself clutching at Mycroft, oddly distressed, feeling as though there was an obstruction between him and Mycroft, and instead moved his hips in time to Mycroft, confused with his need to come, and this terrible, terrible need to get the gag out of his mouth.

The annoyance grew, and Gregory frowned, tossing his head as though he could get the gag off by rubbing his face against the pillow. Faintly, he thought he heard Mycroft say something like don’t do that, Gregory, but the suddenly constricting straps of leather around his head was suddenly too much, too tight, the gag in his mouth a foreign object that he wanted to spit out. He wanted to hold Mycroft, have him close, and kiss him, taste him, drown his senses in Mycroft, his partner, his lover, his equal, but for the damnable device preventing him. Two extreme emotions warred, and Gregory snarled around the gag, and then there were fingers in his hair and Mycroft was coming, clenching tight around him, heat, and then wetness as he came onto Greg’s stomach.

He was vaguely aware that he was whining in distress, a hand stroking between his thighs, Mycroft’s voice urging him to come, and he was so close, so very close -

Except that he couldn’t come.

He scrambled backwards against the pillows, breathing ragged through his nose as he grabbed at the straps and tugged to no avail, clumsy fingers unable to work the locking mechanism when he couldn’t see it, and shuddered, helpless. Hands quickly pulled his own away, then the straps loosened, and he immediately ripped the gag out of his mouth and threw it away - he didn’t care where, as long as it was far, far away from him, something terrifyingly close to a sob squeezing out of a throat far too tight to speak. Then Mycroft was there, again, close, familiar smell and soft hair and he grabbed on to him, inhaling his scent, lapping at his skin to rid himself of the taste of rubber, forcing himself not to bite down despite his instincts demanding that he did.

“Come for me, Gregory,” Mycroft was saying, hand still stroking him, tugging at his balls gently. “Come for me, now.”

He buried his face in the crook of Mycroft’s neck, bit down on his own hand, and then came all over Mycroft’s fingers with a strangled yell.

Much later, when he had calmed down considerably, Mycroft took his hand into his own, turning it over to inspect the very angry looking and deep bite marks, and quite unnecessarily, in Greg’s opinion, dabbed disinfectant over it with a cotton ball.

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft offered into the calm silence, eventually, careful to keep his touch light. “I had no idea that you will resent it this much, or I would have never suggested it.”

“I had no idea, myself,” Greg murmured, his voice still hoarse from when he had tried his best to not voice his distress. He worked his jaw a little, swallowed, and continued. “I was distressed because it felt like I couldn’t get to you. Like I couldn’t really be with you. It felt - “ he cast about for a word, and settled inadequately on “ - wrong.”

Mycroft was quiet, and then ran his fingers through Greg’s hair, the detective leaning into the soothing touch. “Still, I am sorry for not noticing your distress earlier.”

“None of us could have known, but now that we know, we know not to do it again,” Greg shifted so that he could look at Mycroft, the other’s expression grave. “It was a logical countermeasure against me marking you, after all.” The political fallout of that would be huge, not to mention that no one had any idea the effect of a werewolf’s bite on a vampire.

“But - “ Mycroft started, only to be stopped by Greg’s finger to his lips.

“No more of ifs, or buts. I’m just glad its gone and I’m looking forwards to putting it into the trash tomorrow morning. I’m sure this brilliant mind of yours will come up with an alternative eventually, or we could just skip the sex as usual and make up for it afterwards.” Gregory leaned in and stole a kiss. “Now, we should both sleep so that we can wake on time for work tomorrow like responsible adults.”

“Sleep?” Mycroft cast an incredulous look to where his come was smeared over Gregory’s front, currently drying and beginning to flake.

“Is there something wrong with sleeping?” Gregory followed his gaze. “We can just shower tomorrow.”

“I’ll have you know,” Mycroft immediately sat up straighter, clutching at the blankets. “That you, Gregory Lestrade, are an unbelievable, unhygienic, terribly filthy - “ And he managed to get that far before a pillow got him in the face.

“Filthy, mangy, flea-ridden, insufferable beast?” Gregory was already out of bed and running for the bathroom, laughing as Mycroft grabbed hold of the pillow and roared. “I know that already!”

“GREGORY!”

 


End file.
